


First Light

by maiaran



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durincest, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of Bagginshield, Mentions of Teasing, Sibling Incest, Thoughtful Introspection, feel good fic, made up dwarf culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maiaran/pseuds/maiaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kíli's never been a good liar and, this time, Fíli just can't let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first Hobbit fanfiction I've completed, any thoughts and helpful criticism are greatly encouraged. Apologies for possible, occasional typos, please let me know if you find any. :)

 

Kíli had never been a good liar. 

As kids, his eyes had been too honest, too open, and better served a good pout or an innocent look to get them out of trouble. Little had changed as they’d grown and he still exuded the same emotion and sincerity. He was the first to jump when a compliment could be given, the first to smile when eyes were directed his way, and no amount of trickery could surpass how easily he could charm his way into someone’s good graces. 

Yet, as they’d passed fifty and moved closer to that ever looming one-hundred, Fíli had begun to notice another side to Kíli, one that was still wide with a grin and always held a hearty pat on the shoulder but it lacked _something_ – a spark, something that Fíli couldn’t place and no matter how much he needled his brother no answers were given to ease the questioning in the back of his mind.

So he’d done what he’d always done in times of trouble; he’d turned to their mother who always seemed to have an answer for everything and, as expected, she hadn’t failed to deliver another nugget of wisdom into his life.

Kíli was far too much like Uncle Thorin and, according to their mother, Uncle Thorin had three visible sides.

There was ‘Thorin’, who did little more than work, eat, and work some more. She’d called it his ‘default’ setting that held enough wiggle room to include visits to his _favorite_ nephews, sword training, and other occasional frivolous activities.  Then there was ‘Half-wit Thorin’, whom Fíli had never openly speculated about because there was just no safe way to place Uncle Thorin and ‘half-wit’ in the same sentence together. Still, their mother hadn’t had a problem doing just that and she’d explained that this Thorin was the one that covered ‘ _I’m the head of this family_ ’, a start to a conversation that never seemed to bode well for anyone, ‘the frown’, reserved for any time Uncle Thorin was at a loss for anything intelligent to say (her words, not his), and, lastly, the face of ‘fatherly outrage’, which apparently covered Uncle-ly outrage, brotherly outrage, and just plain outrage.

Kíli had similar sides, though less frown-y and pessimistic ones but he could see how they were similar. Yet, just like Uncle Thorin, Kíli had one more side because, as a Son of Durin, things could never be kept simple.

The first time he’d really seen it had been right after Kíli’s fortieth birthday. Fíli had been apprenticing down at the forge and had been late to their traditional sweets-for-dinner dinner, unintentionally so, when he’d misjudged the amount of time it would take to etch silver, but he would never forget just how put out Kíli had looked until he’d realized who it was that had walked through the door.

In hindsight, he could never figure out _who_ , exactly, Kíli though it would be, if not him. But, after they’d eaten and gifts had been given along with his excuses, ones that were – thankfully – easily forgiven when he’d presented his brother with a single silver arrow, obviously more of a trinket them something useful, etched with a simple, yet favored filigree Kíli had brushed it off as nothing.

‘ _What look_ ’, he’d asked and, to this day, Fíli hadn’t forgotten the little bit of tightness at the corners of Kíli’s mouth, that subtle line of strain holding up his smile.  He’d seen the same look on Uncle Thorin a thousand times; pressed and wearing down on his shoulders. It was a look of hurt, but forced aside by the resolve to not let it show.

Fíli hadn’t pushed, not at first, anyway, but as the years passed and that look remained a part of Kíli’s sides, it’d grown hard to resist.

Now, it was nearly impossible.

Near the edge of the water, Kíli sat with his shoulders hunched, bow resting on the rocks beside him and Fíli didn’t need to see his face to know exactly what the strain there would look like. An ache settled low in his gut, worry and a flare of anger directed at a few choice members of their company surging up, hot and spiced with the remnants of his own fresh embarrassment.

Their teasing had started off simple enough – a comment here, a remark there – but, slowly, it’d started to build up from harmless fun to what felt like something heavier, and though he was reasonably sure none of them meant any offense, it was the nature of the matter that made it seem so.

Fíli knew that he and Kíli had never been particularly normal as far as brothers went. For starters, the gap between their ages was exceptionally small, a rarity of sorts with their kind and one that often ended in feelings of ill will and competition between the siblings, vying for their parent’s attention and encouragement through the first rights of aging.

They’d had none of that. From the very start Fíli had adored him. His brother was something special, a playmate as well as a responsibility, and from the moment he’d started chattering out a chirpy, garbled ‘ _Fee_ ’, Kíli had been absolutely perfect.  

And they’d hurt him – Kíli, who had always saved him a smile, who laughed fully and freely, who used to crawl into his bed asking for _just one more story, Fee, please_ and inevitably fell asleep half way through it, drooling on his shoulder as Fíli’d tried and failed to make himself get up and put him back in bed.

They’d _hurt_ him.

And the irrational rush of emotions left a sour taste on his tongue, only worsened by the bitterness of the shame their jests awoke within him.

If they’d only known even a fraction of their taunts had hit home, ringing with the truth that, more than once, Fíli had contemplate the exact things they’d suggested, would they still have voiced them?

Looking down at the mud-covered toes of his boots, Fíli forced himself to swallow all of that, ignoring as best he could, the way his mouth watered and his chest ached in the face of a long buried want. He would admit that he wished for more but now was neither the time nor the place and he pushed himself forward, letting the snap of twigs and the crunch of smaller rocks make his presence known.

“Are you trying to wake the dead, Brother?”

There was no spark of humor, the words falling flat as Fíli sat beside him and looked out over the slow moving water. “Aye, do you think it worked?”

“Surely Uncle will be most displeased if it did. You shouldn’t sound so hopeful.”

He hadn’t, but he appreciated the attempt at a normal conversation anyway, shabby as it was.

“Uncle would likely care more about the reckless endangering of his Hobbit than the actual beasts doing the endangering.”

Kíli snorted, nodding his agreement. “Perhaps it would help them.”

“I doubt it. Balin’s right, little is going to help them if they can’t see beyond the tips of their own noses – or their tempers.” He sighed, stealing a glance at his brother when no reply came.

Fíli didn’t like the set of his shoulders, the tension that drew them so tightly or the pinch to his lips. It resembled the weight on his own back and he knew what it was like to live years with that pushing you down, feeling the ache of its aftereffects.

“You just like to meddle,” he teased and when no appeasing smile came, Fíli reached out, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You know, Kíli, I’m here for you.”

His touch was shrugged off as Kíli pointedly looked anywhere but at him. “And what do you think you could do, Brother?”

It hurt, but he ignored the sting of the words and turned, taking his hand this time. “It’s not what I _could_ do, but what I _would_ do. I would listen… as I’ve always done, and I will fix whatever ails you if I am capable. You know this.”

It was formal, painfully so, but he hoped his grip on Kíli’s fingers would lighten it somehow.

He loved holding Kíli’s hands. His fingers were long and slender where his own where short and stout, better suited to gripping the hilts of swords than nimbly fitting arrows to a bow. His thumb traced over Kíli’s knuckles then down, across the lines where his fingers met, and he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to lace their hands together and hold fast, never forced to let go when wandering eyes fell upon them and Kíli shrunk back from the teasing smiles and joking commentary.

“I would listen, Brother,” he repeated. “Talk to me.”

“I _can’t_ , Fee…”

He’d almost preferred the silence to the soft, pained tone laced with worry, thick and obvious in the way it made Kíli’s words stick, heavy on his tongue.

“Why.” Fíli hadn’t meant to ask, not aloud, at least. Silently, he’d wondered the same thing over and over, long into the nights when Kíli was pressed against his side and far too old to be sneaking into his room with such flimsy excuses. He’d never called his brother on them though, content to soak up what closeness was offered and, truth be told, he always slept easier when the soft breathing against his neck and the warmth of an arm thrown over his waist was present.

He’d long since come to know that Kíli was his security blanket and, in turn, he was Kíli’s, yet it didn’t stop him as it should have, the notion childish but comfortable. He knew why he made no protests, even at seventy-seven, when he should have been inviting others to his bed. That love that had twisted and turned from brotherly and caring to something softer and more intimate, bringing with it a slew of desires that made each touch burn hotter, brighter and harder to ignore; that’s where he would lay the blame.

But why did Kíli continue? _Why_ did he not protest or drift?

When he felt his brother tense, Fíli shook himself from his thoughts, grip tightening on Kíli’s hand as he lifted it and pressed a rushed kiss against the knuckles he’d been petting moments before. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against them, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t push, I know… but I worry about you. You’re too much like him.”

He didn’t need to say just who ‘him’ was. Kíli would understand, like he always did and, gathering his courage, Fíli looked up, trying to mask his worry that the gesture would be unwelcome.

The tension in Kíli’s shoulders hadn’t eased, but his lips were parted and his expression, if nothing else, held no trace of the sharpness his tone had when Fíli had first sat down. His brow was furrowed, the corners of his eyes crinkled in confusion and, for once, Fíli couldn’t place just what else lingered there.

Doubt? Or a deeper worry that he hadn’t noticed, too blinded by his own to see what was right before him?

When Kíli’s free hand touched his cheek, the rough leather of his glove catching on Fíli’s beard, he almost forgot that he’d been requesting answers to questions that hadn’t been asked in full. Instead, he tipped into the touch, automatically looking for more of the tenderness that was so obvious in the warmth of the fingertips against his skin. It was softer than he’d imagined it would be, so very different from the playful, comfortable touches he’d grown used to and he set his own hand over it, savoring the feeling.

“I _can’t_ , Fee… _please_.”  

The pleading lilt should have stopped him, not spurred him on, but it was a familiar note that he’d heard too often in his own thoughts and his chest constricted, tightening around a mixed bag of guilt and hope.

He could see it now, the doubt, the worry – it was all there. But, underneath that, there was something he hadn’t dared to wish for outside the quiet of his dreams and the sanctuary of his own mind. He’d never voiced the thoughts, the need, aloud, never dared to whisper of them when there was the possibility that someone could hear.

Yet, he knew what love looked like. He knew what desire looked like, having seen it far too many times on his own face to ever truly mistake it on the one he’d wanted for so long.

Kíli’s hands shook and he moved to draw them away but Fíli didn’t let him, pulling him closer as his little brother’s worry spiked.

“Kíli…”

He was too obvious in so many things and so secretive in the ones that should have been as clear as day but he muddled them up, and were it any other moment, Fíli would have laughed.

 _Day and night_ …their mother had been right; as different as the sun and the moon, yet both sharing the same sky.  

“Fíli?”

“I’m in love with you.”

Kíli’s eyes widened but Fíli didn’t wait for a response. Leaning up, he squeezed the hands in his and brushed their lips together.

He could feel himself shaking, years of silent worry and want making him hesitant but unable to pull away and break the contact too soon. For just a moment, he’d be selfish and drown the guilt in the feeling of Kíli’s lips against his and the hand slipping away from his own, tangling in his hair, drawing him closer and—

When Kíli pushed him back, it took a moment for him to realize the grip in his hair wasn’t harsh and painful, but firm and steady and he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes stinging as Kíli crawled forward, planting a hand against his chest to urge him back. He went without hesitation, ignoring the bite of the rocks pushing through his cloak as he cupped a hand against the back of his brother’s neck.

Their foreheads touched, a laugh Fíli couldn’t hold back shaking the air between them, and Kíli soon joined in.

Little kisses were peppered over his cheeks, the barely-there scruff on Kíli’s chin soft and tickling as he laughed and Fíli sighed, closing his eyes.

This was what he’d been waiting for; this touch, this warmth and to think, perhaps it’d been there all along.

“This is what bothered you so?” At Kíli’s nod, he laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly. “You never—“

“Neither did you,” his brother mumbled, brushing their noses together. “Why should I have been the one to bring it up?”

“You’re always the one to bring things up, Kee. You’ve never been able to let anything go,” he teased.

“I know…” Kíli whispered.  “That’s why I couldn’t say anything.”

His eyes flew open at the implication and Kíli sat back, looking down at him with a softer embarrassment, cheeks flushed and bright but there was still worry there, warring with his hesitation and the need to keep going.

“I couldn’t let go of you, Fee… and when they— and with Uncle— I _couldn’t_ —“

“I know,” Fíli interrupted, bringing a hand up to cup Kíli’s cheek. “…I know.”

And he did.

He’d been afraid too. He was _still_ afraid – that, despite the open outlook of their people, finding a love in his brother would be frowned up, if only because there were the last of the line of Durin. Were they to weather the ages together – of which he had no doubt that they would if that’s what Kíli wanted – there would be no heirs from them, leaving the line to their Uncle who was just as unlikely to continue it if he ever got his act together around his Hobbit.

It was a sham of a worry, brought on by too many years spent listening to whispers as they traded with the local towns of Men – ‘unnatural’, ‘filthy’.

But they weren’t Men.

They weren’t a company of _Men_ and, leaning forward, he touched their foreheads together again as reassured himself, letting the silence stretch when he felt Kíli’s tension begin to fade and they both eased into the warmth the other brought.

“They will be happy for us,” he reassured, though who he was speaking to, Kíli or himself, he wasn’t sure. “They will no more frown on a bond between us than they would one between Uncle and our little Burglar.”

A soft laugh tickled his nose, pulling the corners of his own lips up and he sighed, tipping his head to press a kiss against the corner of Kíli’s mouth.

“All will be well.” _I promise_.

He knew they should head back. Thorin was likely fretting, despite his insistence he did no such thing, but Fíli couldn’t force himself to move, to let go for even a moment.

Holding Kíli, and being held by him, was everything he’d imagined and so much more. The touches, though familiar, had gained a tender edge, no longer roughened by the need to hold back the underlying emotion or bogged down with a worry that the other would notice and not return the affections.

It was liberating; a freedom he’d hardly dared to hope for and one he looked forward to enjoying for whatever time was given to them.

He knew the dangers of their quest and the likelihood that these coming months may be there last. He would squander it. He wouldn’t waste what Mahal had seen fit to grant them.  

Kíli’s hand found his hair again, no longer pulling but petting, fingers tracing the braids holding it neat and he was thankful for the distraction, his thoughts drifting from Erebor and what lay in wait.

Later, perhaps after they’d spoke with Thorin and presented their relationship in a fashion, if not wholly proper, than at least somewhat close, he’d ask Kíli to remove the current plaits and redo them. He didn’t have a clasp to exchange or to offer, as was traditional, but he had a small pouch of spares, a handful of items he’d made when learning to work the finer points of the forge that were handsome enough. They were simple in design, but durable and bright, and the idea of returning the gesture, weaving a braid into Kíli’s hair and fitting it with a bead of his own making left his chest feeling tight as he slid his hand around to cup the back of Kíli’s neck once again.

“I do love you,” Kíli murmured, reaching out to stroke his cheek as their noses brushed together and Fíli sighed, feeling his smile soften as he pulled Kíli closer.

 “And I you, Brother.”

 _And I you_.

 

 


End file.
